“Your domineering eye-glare is not a weapon, Wesley" I tell him, holding strong. “Plus, that's a cocky way to act."
“You told me if I kept looking at you this way—"
“I was stroking your long, hard ego, Wesley."
“Wow," he says, breaking free from his pose. “Plus, I don't want to make you jealous with what's in my drawer."
A coy smile inches across the stubble on his cheeks as he pushes his hair out of his face. “I see. You don't think I can compare to your little toy. I assume that's what you've got hiding in that drawer."
“I didn't say that."
“You kind of just did."
“I didn't say those words."
“Timber, that's his name, right? Didn't Layla sayyou call out ‘Timber‘ when you experience satisfaction?"
“Mmm. Yes, that is true."
“What does Timber that I don't?"
I feel the heat rushing through me, the embarrassment I want to go away. I'm thinking about other women ogling him while he works, and he's thinking about a silicone vibrator giving me occasional pleasure. The comparison could never hold up as a legitimate argument. “The ability to do something a man has never done for me. How's that?" It's sad but true.
“That's right, I didn't hear you say anything about Timber yesterday, and I thought you—you know, in the shower." Both points are true.
I nod my head. “Sorry, it's not you. It's me. No one has ever heard me yell timber, except Timber." My wink is an attempt to drive him crazy, but I've also never admitted this out loud to anyone except Layla before, so it's also making me a little crazy too. I feel broken sometimes, but I know I'm not broken, just not easily excitable by real people.
“Wow. Every guy enjoys hearing 'that'line. Well, I would have tried harder."
“Maybe next time," I say, grinning with a wink.
He pulls the collar away from his neck. “It's getting a little toasty in here isn't it?"
“No, I feel fine." I like having the upper hand. I don't want him to take that away from me. I've let guys make me feel weak in the past, and I promised not to let it happen again.
“Hey, will you ah, help me with the milk later?" he asks me.
“You need me to milk you?" I respond.
“Whoa … whoa … I don't know where you're going with this filthy talk, but I meant get milk at the store and help me pour it into glass jars."
“Oh, my bad, sure, I can help."
“It will be a good bonding experience so we can get to know more about each other."
“Will you at least wear a milk mustache while we talk?"
“What is wrong with you?" he asks.
“I'm not the one who told me to put glue on your face … so …"
“True. You have a point."
I see his hand drifting back to the drawer of my nightstand. “Wesley?"
“Yes," he says, keeping his eyes locked on mine.
“You think you're pretty slick don't you?"
“No, I don't." The moment his hand touches the handle of the drawer, I slap his knuckles. “Come on! What's the worst that could happen if I see what's inside your drawer?"
